


Keyword

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle plans a suble campaign. Subtlety has never been his forte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keyword

Turner was enjoying himself and making no attempt to hide the fact. It wasn't often anyone got one up on Ray Doyle and he intended to milk the situation for all it was worth.

"I can't get over it," he said, not for the first time. "One of Cowley's finest getting done over by a little old lady. I mean, it's embarrassing for the rest of us. Made us the laughing stock, you have."

Despite one beginning-to-swell eye, Doyle managed to achieve a creditable glare. "You forgot to mention the three heavies," he reminded Turner with sour dislike. "I was handling them fine till that stupid old trout decided to be a public citizen."

"So you keep insisting," said Turner, his knowing grin guaranteed to ruffle milder tempers than Ray Doyle's. "But like the lady said, how was she supposed to know you weren't mugging that nice young lad and his friends? Rossiter didn't look the part," he added, casting a disparaging glance at Doyle's torn silk shirt, happily conscious of his own _Man at C &A_ suited appearance.

"Sod off," mumbled Doyle, who lacked the energy to put the charmless Turner in his place.

Life, he decided with gloom, was bloody unfair. It would take him months to live this fiasco down - all thanks to a pink-cheeked old harridan who had refused to believe he was on the side of the angels. It was because she - while trying to decapitate him with her handbag - had stumbled against an unsteady stack of crates that he was currently feeling as though he'd been run over by a Chieftain tank. Tins cascading from a great height hurt, as he could testify. While he'd been half- buried under them, Tommy Rossiter and his mates had fled. Busy defending himself from the redoubtable Mrs. Magee, while struggling to produce his ID for the young constable who had appeared, he had been in no position to go after them.

The scene had drawn quite a crowd by that time. To add insult to injury, he'd only been after Tommy for a couple of names, possessing no interest in purloined groceries or the stolen van waiting to receive them. With those charges hanging over him, Tommy wasn't likely to be in the mood to co-operate when he did catch up with him. Not that the dozy, light-fingered git ever had been, he reminded himself sourly, roused from past failure to the present by the sound of car horns behind them.

"Lights changed about five minutes ago," he growled.

"Yeah, I know," agreed Turner cheerfully. "'m just teaching the impatient bastard behind me to wait." The car crawled along the now clear road at a steady 15 mph, to the chagrin of a while line of cars trapped behind him by the narrowness of the road and the constant stream of oncoming traffic.

Closing his eyes, Doyle tried to pretend Turner was no more than a figment of his fevered imagination - and failed. Today had been his first real contact with him; he had already decided that if it wasn't his last there would be trouble.

Only then did Doyle remember the less-than-enthusiastic report Bodie had given him after being teamed with Turner for only two days. Still, that was no surprise; Bodie hated working with anyone he didn't know inside out and he detested going through the learning process. Recalling his own baptism of fire, longer ago than he cared to admit to, Doyle gave a reminiscent grin. Now look at them.

Bodie was going to laugh himself silly when he heard about this morning's fiasco. Jammy sod, skiving off for a nice quiet day in court.

"Rise and shine, home sweet home," carolled Turner, bringing the car to a halt at the curbside with a flourish that made Doyle wince. Turner, he decided, was an embarrassment to be seen with.

"Sure you can manage?" asked Turner, all solicitude as he watched his passenger lever himself from the car with the minimum of grace.

Tempted to say no but remembering in time that it would only prolong their acquaintance, Doyle maintained a dignified silence.

"Have a good weekend," added Turner, seemingly impervious to atmosphere, "and if you can't be good you'll have to be careful."

Doyle pretended not to hear him. It wasn't until he was inside the building and discovered that the lift was broken - again - that it sank in. Weekend. A free weekend in which he and Bodie - after a considerable amount of spadework on his part - were supposed to be sampling the delights of the countryside.

Sod it. And the lift.

Hauling himself up what came to seem an interminable number of steps, Doyle finally made it to his flat - his fourth floor flat: fifty-six stairs - convinced his world would seem a brighter place if only he could find some part of his body which didn't hurt.

 

Doyle surfaced to an awareness of being watched and rolled towards his gun - or tried to.

"And who," asked Bodie with a smooth-voiced intent to aggravate, "forgot to put the safety chain on then? Careless that."

Collapsing back against the pillows, Doyle gave a pale imitation of his usual scowl. "If," he said, with an edge to his sleep-roughened voice, "you've come round to be funny, you can piss off again. And you can stuff any lectures, I'm not in the mood."

"No," agreed Bodie, "I can see you wouldn't be." Making himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, he placed two steaming mugs on the small cabinet. "Your face wasn't that shape yesterday, was it? Nah, I'd've remembered. What's all this I heard about you getting done over by some old age pensioner?"

"Up yours," mumbled Doyle. While he had slept every sinew seemed to have locked tight; moving with considerable caution, he edged himself up the bed, wincing.

"I dunno, wouldn't catch Clint Eastwood complaining like this," said Bodie, but there was a trace of concern in his eyes as he took in the extent of the bruising appearing over the top of the sheet. "You are all right, I suppose?"

Taking the enquiry in the spirit in which it was meant, Doyle nodded. "Course. Bruises, that's all. The news has got round HQ then," he added, his manner supremely casual.

"Got round? Even the Cow grinned. Mind, that was probably when he realised you were going to be sick in your own time rather than CI5's."

"Figures," sighed Doyle, able to predict the comments he would have to live with for the next week. "How was your day then?"

"Great! No," said Bodie, taking pity on his suffering other half, "you don't want to hear about it, would only depress you."

"In court? Come off it. You've been bored out of your mind. I recognise all the signs. Miss me, did you?"

"Yes," agreed Bodie with unconsidered honesty, "I did." He decided it was worth it just to see the admission take Doyle by surprise, this not the game they had been playing recently. "I can see you missed me, too," he added, with a pointed glance at some spectacular bruising.

"All the time," replied Doyle automatically, as he watched Bodie's face close against him again. "It was Turner who collected me from Casualty," he added, to explain his lapse.

"Ah, well that explains it. Anyone's preferable," said Bodie with a brisk feeling.

"No, not anyone. I wouldn't take Turner as a free gift. You wouldn't pass me whatever's in that mug, would you?" To his secret surprise, Bodie did.

"I take it our weekend jaunt is off," said Bodie, sounding no more than resigned as he picked up his own mug.

Cradling warm pottery between his hands, Doyle wished he hadn't been caught snoozing like some old dear. "As it took me a good five minutes to get up the stairs, I reckon it'll have to be." His nose vanished into the beaker, his expression lighting as he swallowed. "Strewth, I dunno what this is supposed to be but it tastes bloody marvellous."

"'s only coffee," dismissed Bodie, sipping at his own to demonstrate the method approved by polite society.

Ignoring the hint, Doyle took another luxurious mouthful. "That a fact? Pass a coffee bean over the top of it, did you?"

"For a couple of seconds. Not bad, is it?"

"Not at all." Three quarters of the way down the contents of the mug, Doyle frowned. "Hold up, I haven't got any booze in - or proper coffee come to that."

"Nor much of anything else," agreed Bodie. "Your mice must be skinnier than you. I went shopping."

"Voluntarily?"

"Well, I'd already guessed the weekend would be off," said Bodie, sounding a trifle on the defensive side. "Thought I'd come over and see how the invalid was doing. You were asleep. There was no point hanging around to watch you do that - " in case he crawled into bed with him. He looked so bloody fuckable lying there - "so I went to get some food in. It was obvious you needed a few things."

"A new body would be a start," said Doyle, peering into his now empty mug with regret.

"Oh, I dunno, got quite used to the old one," said Bodie, before he stared into his own mug. Bugger it. Maybe he'd been too liberal with that scotch after all.

Giving Doyle no chance to respond, he added briskly: "Right, now you've got that inside you, up you get. You lounge around feeling sorry for yourself and you won't be able to move by tomorrow. Cowley's going to expect you in Monday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so rise and shine. Have a shower. Once you've loosened up enough, get in the bath - a hot one. After you've had a soak I'll give you a massage." Already turning away to dispose of his mug, he gave an unseen grimace. Condemned out of his own mouth. But here, in Doyle's bedroom, with Doyle lying there in front of him, it was hard to remember to keep that vital distance, temptation all around him.

"Not a chance," said Doyle firmly, hauling up the sheet. "You don't know your own strength at the best of times - this isn't one of them. Think of me as a fragile flower and you've got the picture."

"So what's new? Come on, Ray. No point lying there looking pathetic." Briskly hauling the sheet away, Bodie paused. "Strewth!" Appalled blue eyes met green. "What the hell - ?"

"It is a bit colourful," Doyle agreed, peering down at himself with vague surprise, glad he didn't feel as bad as he looked.

"Who did it?"

Doyle wrinkled his nose, reluctant to admit the truth.

"Come on, Ray, who was it?"

"Not who, what. Baked beans," he elucidated. Resigned to the necessity, he crawled out of bed.

"Baked beans?" echoed Bodie, his ability to concentrate on their conversation eroded by his awareness of the warmth of Doyle's spine against the hand he had so thoughtlessly extended; his senses swimming in Doyle-scent he couldn't have said anything else, crippled by his longing to taste and to revel in touch.

"As in tins of," explained Doyle. "Boxes of 'em were dumped on some crates. The pile fell over and the tins fell out - onto me. KO'd by bloody baked beans..."

Shaking his head, barely conscious of what he was saying, Doyle refrained from adding that he had been capable of walking by himself since an early age. He daren't joke about it; he had missed Bodie's casual, proprietorial touch too much since it had been withdrawn, finding himself actively seeking out the body contact he had once taken for granted. Very conscious of the heat from Bodie's skin and the rigidity of the flat- palmed hand which in the past would have slapped his bum and pushed him forwards, Doyle could think of nothing else to say.

"That's a relief, thought you were planning to arm-wrestle carrots for an encore. Sure you can manage?" Bodie added at the bathroom door; he was already moving away.

"I'll yell if I can't," said Doyle with unusual meekness, permitting that retreat because he had no alternative. In the old days Bodie would have stayed to chat, offering a string of highly personal and derogatory comments while he did so.

Bloody pathetic to miss being insulted, Doyle told himself as he stepped under the shower, but he'd give a lot to hear Bodie do it again. Cowley had claimed, more than once, that Bodie wasn't much of an actor. Showed the old bastard didn't know them as well as he thought. Or maybe he did. Maybe Bodie felt they were getting too close for comfort and that was why he was backing away. Whatever his reasons, he'd changed. Take just now for instance...

Slick with water, Doyle stepped from the shower and moved, still dripping, to stand in front of the mirror. Wiping away the condensation which had formed over it, he studied his smeared reflection.

No, it was the same body all right. From the fleeting look he'd glimpsed on Bodie's face he thought it might have changed - prime steak dangled in front of a starving carnivore, then nothing. It was the ensuing lack of expression which worried him.

Why? Why should it happen at all, let alone now - of all times? He and Bodie had been sidling around the subject and each other for weeks, never - quite - getting there. Remembering to turn off the shower, Doyle frowned. Indecision and life in CI5 weren't compatible, which was why he and Bodie had survived so long. They weren't indecisive - usually.

One hand covering a sore place along his ribs, Doyle leant down, spinning the hot tap of the bath on as far as it would go. These weren't usual times, he reminded himself, watching the mountain of aromatic bubbles rise with an unenthusiastic eye. Perhaps Bodie was right, this pause to take stock might be a good idea. A quick fling with your partner wasn't a bright idea - too much at stake. There was little that was casual about Bodie, for all the impression he liked to give.

As for himself...

Doyle sank into the bath, the water as hot as he could bear it, muttering as it found the cuts and scrapes he had forgotten about. As his body accustomed itself to the heat he settled back, waiting for the heat to do its work. As for himself... he felt abandoned, confused and as turned on as hell. If he'd had his mind on the job instead of Bodie this morning he wouldn't be lying here trying to soak up enough heat to make himself mobile. The trouble was, there was too much to think about; he couldn't take Bodie's route and pretend nothing had changed.

Or perhaps any changes were only within himself?

Too late to worry about that. It had happened, although he might not know how and why. Didn't care, come to that. It was the potential cost which scared him.

You couldn't have a one night stand with your best mate and working partner and expect everything to remain the same. Bodie wasn't some once wined and dined bird to be tried, tested and forgotten as the conveyor belt moved on.

That didn't take away the wanting though.

Doyle's mouth twisted a little as he gazed down the length of his body sometime later to see his stubbornly insistent cock poking up into view, wearing a collar of frothy bubbles.

Need more than that round you, don't you, sweetheart. Yeah.

Where are you when we need you, Bodie?

In the meantime...

Love the one you're with, he told himself wryly. His slick fingers moved, lazy at first, on his own flesh, his eyes blindly fixed on the middle distance and the vivid mental images of Bodie as he had seen him for those first few nights.

Urgency flared then, his movements hastening, grip firm and hard, the rhythm he created increasing until he made one sharp sound, then was still.

His eyes still brilliant opened in time to see the pearly evidence weighing down the airy bubbles over his belly, sinking into the pale green water.

Gone but not forgotten.

Idly, he rubbed at a wet whorl of hair where it arrowed down, feeling the slick remnants of his casually expelled seed between finger and thumb - or perhaps it was no more than the bubble bath. He wondered if Bodie would feel the same, what he would taste like. He knew the scent of him from those few nights they had shared.

Too few nights, too long ago.

Aware that he was immersed in fast-cooling water, Doyle turned on the hot tap, releasing the plug for a few seconds to make room for the top-up. Mary, her name had been. In London for a week long conference. It was a criminal waste that they hadn't run into her until her third evening in town: literally. Making reparation, he and Bodie had known over that first drink with her that this prize was for the sharing. No believer in wasting time, Mary had come to the same decision, inviting them up to her suite after the second drink.

He and Bodie had double-dated before, of course, but they had never shared a girl before - or the same room with a date. Remiss of them, that.

A lovely lady was Mary. Lovely luxurious nights, too, in her all-expenses paid suite at the _Carlton Hotel_. It was lucky she'd gone back to Brussels when she had really, he'd been on his last legs and Bodie had been in no better shape, for all his expression of superiority when they'd turned up at her suite for that last night.

He couldn't forget those nights. Didn't want to. What he wanted was to repeat and extend the experience without the excuse of a Mary. Bodie would be enough for him.

In the act of topping up the hot water again, Doyle's eyes widened a little in surprise, then the knowledge settled peacefully into the place that had been waiting to receive it for so long.

Well, well, well.

But true, even if it had taken Bodie's withdrawal since to make him admit it.

It had been so very easy in that vast bed, the three of them loving and laughing and sleeping - not that they'd slept much, he remembered with a crooked grin. Mary's favourite form of mental relaxation wasn't exactly restful. Still, it had worked a treat, the world receding, narrowing, until all thought was focussed only on his bedmates. He should have known sex with Bodie would be fun, everything else was better when he was around to share it with.

For once there had been no competitive edge between them, no sense of having to prove anything, just a sense of sharing, lust, affection and laughter all interwoven, until in the sharing he had learnt to need something he had never thought to want. Or someone.

Doyle could still remember the first shock of feeling sleek, hard muscle against him, the unaccustomed weight and the knowledge that in Bodie there was a power which could match him, even overcome him on occasion. The thought made him shiver and he sank a little lower into the cooling water until the few bubbles that remained caught on his stubble. Yeah, that too - if Bodie fancied the idea. Anything.

Mary, joyously uninhibited, had taken it for granted that Bodie and he were experienced in threesomes. Neither of them had enlightened her. There had been no need to; they'd learnt their lessons well, barriers wordlessly falling with those first, inadvertent touches of flesh against naked masculine flesh, discovering the pleasure to be found there even while Mary remained the unifying force. A lovely lady.

Yet it was Bodie he remembered; the scent and feel of him, the taste of his skin, surreptitiously tasted. Each night had been better than the last. There would have been more but for Mary's sleepy, sated comment on that last night that they hardly needed her around.

"Wrong there, love," Bodie had said, rolling away from him far too casually, leaving only cool air on flesh that had mourned the lost intimacy. Pride had made him play Bodie at his own game then, outplay him even. In retrospect Doyle thought that Mary had recognised the difference in both of them.

It had taken Doyle a long time to realise what that one comment was going to cost him thereafter. While Bodie remained as flippant, good-humoured and capable as ever, he had also been completely unreachable. It had been a lonely time.

Abandoning the water, Doyle sank onto the edge of the bath, the large towel drooping unused in his hands. He'd missed Bodie so bloody much - just having him around. It had taken him a week to persuade Bodie to stop off and have a pint. This was the first time Bodie had set foot in his flat in the month since Mary had gone.

In desperation Doyle had tried skirting around the subject - once. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. Bodie could be an intimidating bugger when he put his mind to it.

Staring at his water-logged hands, Doyle frowned. So where did that leave them? This was too important to get wrong but he didn't trust himself to get it right. He was too impatient. Too inexperienced come to that. He hadn't had any experience in seducing a bloke - it had never occurred to him that he might need it.

For want of a master plan he had set up this weekend in the country, just the two of them: walking, fishing, talking, pub in the evenings. It wouldn't have led to better things but at least it would have given them the chance to share some free time again, would have helped Bodie to relax. Then...

Then he'd planned to move in.

Thanks to Mrs. Magee the weekend was off. Sod it.

Having virtually drip-dried where he sat, Doyle abandoned his towel and began a cautious series of stretching exercises designed to make his abused body more limber.

He could have sworn Bodie wanted him. And he wasn't easily flustered. Doyle would have said never but for his partner's over-reaction to Mary's sleepy comment. There again...

Bent double, Doyle studied his palms where they sat flat on the floor and then slowly straightened. If what she had said hadn't struck a nerve, Bodie wouldn't have turned away; on past form he'd have been more likely to camp it up. Which meant it mattered in some way. Why else would he back off like a startled virgin?

Side-tracked, Doyle stood stock still.

Virgin?

 _Bodie_?

His ensuing expression a mixture of lust and tenderness, Doyle stared into space. If that was all that was worrying... He'd keep Bodie safe.

Moving then, he caught sight of his reflection and scowled. Fat chance he had of seducing anyone while he looked like this. On the other hand, maybe Mrs. Magee had done him a favour. Not only had it brought Bodie round to the flat, but he'd taken the cancellation of the weekend for granted, obviously in no hurry to make alternative arrangements. And he'd offered a massage without a thought.

Anything could lead from a massage, if he played it right. It would be an easy way out for both of them, save the soul- searching for later, when the essentials had been sorted out, like who would have which side of the bed.

Ten seconds later Doyle was strolling out of the bathroom, bright-eyed with anticipation, his bathrobe barely fastened.

"Well, here's a pretty sight after a hard day at the office."

Doyle came to a grinding halt. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Taken aback by his greeting, Linda blinked, then rallied. "Bodie called me about an hour ago."

"Eh?" Doyle stared at her. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock. Ray, are you - "

He was deaf to the next portion of her speech. He'd been in that sodding bath for close on three hours! Valiantly he tried to concentrate on what she was telling him, his mind wholly on his absent partner.

" - said you had this weekend free and that he thought you could do with some company. What have you done to yourself? Are you sure you should be up, you look - Come and sit down," Linda urged him as Doyle moved from the shadows into the light.

"I'm all right." Stunned by a blanketing sense of loss, Doyle made no protest as he was steered to the sofa. "Bodie rang you?" he asked numbly, unconscious of her look of anxiety, the hands parting his bathrobe or her sharply indrawn breath when she saw the marks on him.

"About three quarters of an hour ago. Ray, what happened to you?"

"Where is he?"

Puzzled by the unfamiliar note in his voice, Linda paused from cataloguing his bruises. "He didn't say. I took it for granted he was back at his place. You poor love, you look terrible. You should be in hospital."

"It's only bruising," Doyle dismissed, impatient with her. What the hell had happened? Their first chance to share some time together for weeks and Bodie dumped him - and then pushed Linda into his path. Linda who he thought he had successfully disposed of.

"Mmn. Well, it's obvious you need looking after," she said, the note of decision in her voice penetrating Doyle's abstraction.

He gave her an uneasy look, needing a broody bird like he needed a hole in the head. "There's no need for you to ruin your weekend," he said hastily, too intent on getting rid of her to think of looking martyred. "I'm not going to be good for much at all and - "

Already halfway to the kitchen, Linda ignored him. "You get yourself into bed. I'll see about organising some supper, then I'll give you a massage. There's nothing wrong with having a quiet weekend in on occasion. It could even be fun in the right company. It's lucky Bodie had the wit to ring me, isn't it? It's been ages since I've seen you."

Doyle gave a glum nod of acknowledgement, wondering - exactly - what Bodie was up to right now. And with who. Who had his last bird been? Fiona, that was it. She was a nice enough girl, but no competition.

What the hell was he thinking of?

Doyle studied his outstretched legs. Truth time. Fiona was competition for what he had in mind. Admit it. He wanted Bodie, he was going to have Bodie, but first...

"What happened to you, Ray? You never did say. You look like you've been run over by a steamroller."

Roused from his abstraction, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Funny you should say that..." From a reflex reaction to a pretty girl, his smile gained warmth as the truth dawned on him with a glorious simplicity. Bodie never retreated without some very pressing reason. Fiona, nice girl that she was, wasn't reason enough.

It had felt good waking up to find Bodie here, the atmosphere between them relaxed - until he'd left the bed. Then the atmosphere had been charged and he was prepared to admit what it had been charged with even if Bodie wasn't. Still, he must have hung around for a while. Christ, three hours... Bodie must've thought he was too nervous to come out and had given up.

Stupid sod, thought Doyle affectionately. Still, all wasn't lost. Far from it in fact.

The world seeming a much brighter place, he rose to his feet and gave a wary stretch, relieved to discover that everything was in working order - more or less. But first he had to get rid of Linda. She deserved more than he could give her; it was better finished with quickly, a clean break. He'd never been very good at scenes like that. Bodie was the expert at leaving his girls feeling understanding when they parted.

Musing on the best line to take, it was with some relief that Doyle heard the telephone ring. All but leaping on it, he turned away from Linda, but it was only Anson ringing to tell him that Turner had forgotten to mention that his car had been parked fifty yards down the road and had he got a spare set of car keys.

"Yes. Thanks. I'll be right in," said Doyle. Before an astonished Anson could question his sanity, he had rung off. "Sorry, love," he said to Linda. "Seems the weekend's off. I've been called in. D'you need a taxi or - ?"

"No, I brought my car. You're in no state to work, Ray. You can't even - "

"I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry about this but you know how it is. I'll give you a ring sometime, okay?"

Finding herself being hustled towards the front door, Doyle thrusting her weekend bag and jacket at her with more animation than he had shown in the preceding quarter of an hour, Linda gave him a sour look of comprehension.

"Don't bother." Studying Doyle for what she knew would be the last time, she gave an unwilling smile - he might be a selfish rat but there was something about him. "'Bye, Ray. Take care of yourself. Will you tell me just one thing?"

"Of course," he said, surprised.

"What are you celebrating? You look like a man who's just found the treasure at the rainbow's end. Was it good news?"

"Eh?"

"The phone call," she said, suspecting now that it had had nothing to do with work. But his air of happy expectancy was contagious and despite herself she smiled again.

Doyle was so busy planning his evening that he almost told her. "Yes, yes it was," he said. "A job I've been looking forward to for some time." And that, he realised, was no lie.

"Lucky job," she said dryly, aware that his mind was already far beyond her - if it had ever been on her at all. She must have been mad chasing over here. Funny, Bodie hadn't stuck around once she'd arrived. Seemed in a rush to get away in fact... Refusing to allow Doyle's reaction to rankle, she had started to make revised plans for her own weekend. She would take up Tony's offer after all, she decided.

By the time she had reached the stairwell Doyle's front door was closed, Doyle himself half-dressed and busy trying to decide where he should look for Bodie first. He would have to take it slowly when he found him. Make the meeting look casual. Subtlety would be the keyword of this campaign.

oOo

Having wasted Friday night checking up on Bodie's favoured haunts, Doyle was in no sweet temper by Saturday morning when he returned to his partner's flat. This time he saw a familiar car parked nearby. Bodie had come home then. About bloody time.

Glancing at his watch, he groaned. Disgusted with himself, Doyle grimaced at the still quiet street.

What excuse could he give for turning up on Bodie's doorstep at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning?

Besides, Bodie might have company, in which case the last thing he would want was a third party appearing on the doorstep. Resenting the fact that Bodie would quite happily have it off with some chance come by bird while he was around, Doyle sat glowering through the windscreen. It was ten minutes before he realised how ridiculous he was being.

He remembered locking the car but that was all until he found himself outside Bodie's front door, twitching at his shirt.

Damn it, anyone would think he was nervous. Privately conceding they would be right, he rang the doorbell.

It was sometime before he gained any response.

"Yeah?" The sleepy growl was unmistakably Bodie's.

"'s me."

"Oh. Wonderful. D'you know what bloody time it is?"

"More or less. You got company?"

There was a short silence. "It's not work then?"

"No. You got company?"

"What the fuck's that got to do with you?"

"Want to talk to you," persevered Doyle, who was beginning to feel a fool murmuring intimately into a small metal grill.

"Fine. Talk to me Monday. Goodbye."

"Bodie, I - " Trailing off into silence, Doyle shrugged. What was he supposed to say? A sleepy, bad-tempered Bodie wasn't going to be very amenable to any seduction technique he could come up with. He studied his feet with care.

A soft click made Doyle look up in time to see the door open, Bodie already disappearing down the hall. "Come in, keep quiet and make me some coffee - strong. I'm going to have a shower. This had better be worth waking up for."

Sighing, Doyle moved obediently into the kitchen. Halfway down his own mug of coffee, Doyle became aware that he wasn't alone. Without turning, he made Bodie's and moved to stand by the window, staring out of it.

"Why did you walk out on - leave me so suddenly last night?" he amended, realising he was in danger of sounding like a jilted lover.

"Didn't think Linda would appreciate a threesome."

"No, I don't suppose she would have," agreed Doyle. "Nor would I. I packed her off home."

Bodie studied his partner's back. "Yes," he said, "you're good at lopping off the dead wood."

Deaf to that warning, Doyle only repeated, "Why did you leave?"

"Christ, if you're in one of those moods, I'm going to sit down in comfort," announced Bodie.

The short interlude while they settled themselves in the lounge, told him only that Doyle wasn't going to be steered from the subject. There were days when Doyle's dogged persistence could be a real pain, this was one of them.

"I waited," said Bodie, opting for the truth. "For two solid hours I waited. Was obvious you hadn't fallen asleep by the taps and so on, so I thought - thought maybe you'd rather I left."

"You what?" His head shooting up, Doyle stared across the room in time to catch a glimpse of uncertainty before Bodie’s face lost all trace of expression. "No," he said, calming, "that was the last thing I wanted. Was nice waking up to find you there. Just didn't realise how long I'd spent in there. Was thinking - about you and me."

"Well that accounts for five minutes," said Bodie. "Fall asleep, did you?"

Realising he was going to receive little help from his quarter, Doyle shook his head. "Was thinking about us over the last few months. Mary was right, I don't need her."

"Ah," Bodie set his mug down with great precision, but remained silent thereafter, his expression far from encouraging.

Wondering if he had been wrong all the way along the line, and if Bodie was going to throw him out, Doyle opened his mouth, then found himself caught as he took in the other man's appearance. Bodie was still wearing a bathrobe, the white towelling clinging damply to his shoulders and chest as if he hadn't bothered to dry himself properly. His still wet hair hugged his scalp, emphasising the bone structure and good looks of the face Doyle had always taken for granted. His survey was curtailed when, unshaven and red-eyed, Bodie looked up to glare at him. Mute with longing, Doyle stared back.

"Will you pack that in," Bodie growled. "Anyone would think you've never seen me before."

"Maybe I haven't," mumbled Doyle. "You look terrible. Come to bed with me?"

"So would you if you hadn't got to bed till - " The second part of Doyle's speech sank in. "You what?"

"Come to bed with me. It isn't Linda I want, it's you."

"Now?" enquired Bodie, his expression telling Doyle nothing but the fact he was now wide awake.

Dimly aware that something had gone wrong, Doyle nodded, his attention wholly on the portions of Bodie visible through the scragged together towelling.

Bodie was busy answering his own question, his tone one of determined flippancy. "Well I suppose you meant now. When that glassy-eyed look appears it's goodbye brains, hallo balls. So should I be flattered? You'd better come this way, I'm past the age of finding the carpet fun in the middle of winter." Getting to his feet, he headed for the bedroom, adding over his shoulder, "I hope you're not expecting too much, I'm knackered."

That caught Doyle's attention. "'s no rush. It'll be all right."

At that monumental display of assurance, unseen anger tightened Bodie's face before it was smoothed away. Looking bored more than anything else, he discarded the robe and made himself comfortable on the bed, avoiding Doyle's eyes. "You think so? Okay, convince me," he said.

He had expected anger, or at least some reaction to that challenge. Instead, stripping in a matter of fact manner which still made Bodie's pulse leap, Doyle smiled and shook his head.

"It won't be like this between us."

Faintly uneasy, Bodie made no attempt to welcome him into his bed. He thought he was prepared for the Doyle technique, which in truth consisted of little more than Doyle unleashing the full beam of his sexuality on his chosen bedmate, making them his focus. What Bodie had failed to allow for, even in fantasy, was the heady experience of being the sole object of Doyle's desire and of knowing himself to be the source of the open pleasure on the face bent to him.

Doyle's first touch made him shiver, then reciprocate; it was impossible to turn away from the sweetness, the willingness to please and be pleased.

Doyle was...beautiful, Bodie thought, his doubts, self-will and then coherence sliding away as they learnt each other's bodies. Expecting a fast, hard courtship, Bodie forgot his strategy, passive acceptance moving to active participation as urgency peaked to a fierce, sure completion. Towards the end he heard a voice yelling and realised it must be his own; for apart from one gasping sigh when he came, Doyle made no sound - as if he had wanted to contain the moment into himself, to save it.

Quelling the desire to fall asleep cuddling Doyle, whose face was buried in his throat and whose seemingly boneless body was blanketing him, Bodie concentrated on controlling his breathing rate, his now calm face giving no hint of the turmoil within him. Realising he was still stroking a sweat-slick spine, he forced his hand to still, gloomily aware that he had blown any chance of claiming sex with Ray Doyle did nothing for him. Not after yelling his pleasure to the world.

God that had been something...

Let that be enough. There was no future in getting starry-eyed about Ray Doyle, he told himself, wishing the other man would either fall asleep or leave.

Doyle did neither but untwining, slid to lie next to him. Their bodies settled together with a disconcerting ease. Every physical sense alive to the signals it was receiving, Bodie felt comfortable with them, at home.

Not bad for beginners, he thought indulgently, before he caught himself up. So Ray was a good fuck. That was no surprise, just don't expect anything more, he told himself fiercely.

The plain truth was that Bodie was scared. He’d loved before but never lingered; he'd never been given the opportunity to make a relationship work with the partner of his choice: Sheila had been murdered and Marrika had tired of him. People did. Sad but true. So he had learnt to expect that and to guard himself against it.

It was ridiculous to think of settling down at all, least of all with Doyle. They'd kill each other in a week - if the novelty hadn't already worn off.

It was those few nights with Mary which were responsible for this, Bodie told himself. He had recognised the look in Doyle's eye by their last night with her, determined he wouldn't be next on Doyle's list of experiences to try. He knew too well how hard Doyle could be, the ruthless expert when it came to manipulating the emotions - his own and other people's. And he couldn't match that ruthless streak of Ray's. There were times when he had no defence against Doyle, and Ray knew it. He had to.

Why else were they here?

So much for his attempts to create a little distance between them in an attempt to deny the new awareness that had charged each encounter. On duty had been bad enough; off duty would have been impossible, which was why he had chosen to back away from temptation.

The lure of that provocatively challenging body wasn't enough to make up for what sex with Ray Doyle would cost him in terms of friendship and the best working partner a man could have.

Which didn't explain what they were doing lying here, himself trying to pretend he couldn't feel every hot, glorious inch of the body plastered against him. Or how sweet it had felt when he had taken Ray Doyle into his hand, felt him grow and thicken in response to his touch...

Ah, shit. Disgusted with his own sentimentality, Bodie unconsciously tensed.

Doyle shifted drowsily, rubbing his cheek against Bodie's shoulder with an interrogatory, "Mmmn?"

Keeping his hands resolutely still and his eyes closed, Bodie said only: "Well, you convinced me. That was quite a performance. It doesn't explain what we're doing here."

This time it was Doyle who tensed, moments later Bodie found himself straddled - and distracted - by the heady, sinewy warmth of a naked Ray Doyle.

"Are you serious?" Doyle demanded.

"Very. So what _are_ we doing here?" asked Bodie, his voice even and controlled.

Sated lethargy banished, Doyle looked only tired and a little wary. "I thought we were going to sleep it off. We've just - " there was an infinitesimal pause, " - had it away. If you don't kill the mood stone dead we can do it again later. Was lovely."

It was that which made Bodie weaken. "What were you going to say before you changed your mind?"

Off-balance, and with no idea of what to make of Bodie’s mood, Doyle looked away, unable to sustain that steady, penetrating gaze. He wanted to move but knew he would be admitting defeat if he did; seeking a viable lie with which to answer the question, he remained silent.

Lying passively beneath him, as if divorcing himself from every point of contact, Bodie continued to wait. The silence grew to intimidating proportions.

Aware of an intolerable pressure building somewhere between his head and heart, Doyle shook his head; the pressure only intensified, rising to tighten his throat and prickle his eyes. His face set against a treacherous rush of emotion, he left first Bodie, then the bed.

Surprised by that retreat, and perversely regretting it now, Bodie propped himself up on one elbow, studying Doyle's back with dawning disbelief.

Maybe he wasn't the only sentimental fool here.

"Do you want me to be the one to say it?" he asked into the silence, his eyes on the beautiful lines of Ray’s spine, the shadows not sufficient to obscure the marring bruises; wide, thin-fleshed shoulders tapering down to almost narrow hips; the downy hollow of the spine rising to the tight, satin-skinned buttocks and the dark-shadowed definition of a reddened scrape.

Have to carry on shaving twice a day then, Bodie accepted.

"Say what?" retorted Doyle.

"What do you think?"

Parting the curtains a fraction, Doyle stared out into the grey street below before he let the fabric fall back into place. Fidgeting, he scratched his ribs, rubbed his eyes and then dug long fingers into his hair and tugged. Gaining no inspiration, he turned back into the room, his face indistinct in the shadows.

"Yes, I want you to say it. But you're not going to, are you," he recognised bitterly. "Is it because you don't want to put it into words, or because they wouldn't be true?"

If you give in now, he'll walk right over you, Bodie reminded himself, remaining silent.

Doyle straightened, his face tightening, his chin tilting, before pride surrendered to something more enduring. "Okay, if you won't talk, I'll have to. We both know why I came here, why we ended up in bed. We were makin' love and I want to do it again, every way there is, every day and night we have left. Want to have the right to be here when you need someone, need the same from you. Missed having you in my life, never knew how much till you weren't there."

Sitting on the edge of the bed by now, Bodie's eyes dropped to study his linked hands rather than Doyle's face. "I thought that might be it," he acknowledged quietly. "And the idea appeals. But that's now, today. How long will it last, Ray? And what will it cost?"

Doyle made a soft, incoherent sound of disbelief. "You think this is just novelty talking?" he demanded, one hand curling into an angry fist.

"I don't know," replied Bodie honestly.

Seeing the truth of that in Bodie's face, Doyle swallowed, his anger abruptly fled. "Thanks," he said sardonically.

Some note in his voice made Bodie look up again in time to see him turn back to the curtained window.

"Well," added Doyle, having taken a deep breath, "at least I know now. I never have been good at takin' hints. You were too subtle you see, mate. Sorry to be so thick." He was speaking very quickly by this time, as if afraid to stop. "Let's just forget this happened, eh. Good time had by all but no point in repeating it. 's not worth ruining what we have got for - Christ, what is there left?" he added, his voice so quiet he might have been talking to himself. One hand continued to pleat and repleat the curtain.

Bodie padded across the room to stand next to him. He couldn't have got it this wrong, could he? Sensing the other man's need for comfort, he tentatively rubbed the nape of Doyle's neck, becoming aware that the flesh of his back felt cool to the touch.

"You're cold," he said, glad of something concrete to concentrate on. "Better put something on, or I can switch up the heating."

But Doyle was already pulling on his jeans, his back to Bodie, his movements a little jerky. "Don't bother, I'll soon warm up," he said, his voice muffled as he bent to lace up his trainers. "Don't look so worried," he added, tucking in his shirt. "Things'll soon be back to normal. I'll see you Monday. Pick you up at the usual time, okay?" Snatching up his jacket, he had left the room before Bodie could react.

Racing after him Bodie was just in time to close the opening front door, trapping Doyle between it and himself, half expecting a retaliatory jab: you don't take liberties with Ray Doyle.

None came.

Remaining motionless in the small amount of space left to him, there was a blank look to Doyle now; something in his unfocussed gaze made Bodie forget his own needs and fears. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to seek out that compressed mouth with his own.

His kiss met with no response.

Bodie hid his face against the other man's neck: "D'you think I don't want all those things too? But it scares me, Ray. It scares the hell out of me. I need - "

" - a guarantee," said Doyle flatly. "Like to oblige you but... what you see is what you get. I'm sorry it isn't enough." Before Bodie could say anything to make it worse, he opened the front door and was gone.

Bodie saw only the space where he had been; instinct drove him then.

"Doyle! Ray! Will you just - " The floor was cold to his feet and he banged his elbow rounding the first corner too fast, almost falling down the next flight of stairs.

"For fuck's sake, Doyle," he bellowed, "d'you want me to chase you down the street bollock naked!"

Belatedly aware of his predicament halfway down the second flight of stairs, Bodie was forced to slow, then stop when he heard a door open on the landing below.

Cowley would have him on toast if he got done for indecent exposure, he thought. Trying to listen for the coast to clear, he sagged back against the wall, unconscious of the cold, his chest heaving, emotion rather than exertion having deprived him of breath.

When he opened his eyes a few moments later it was to find Doyle standing in front of him, the blank look noticeably absent from his face.

"Ray..." Bodie's hands settled on him without a thought to their surroundings.

"Yeah," said Doyle gently, "but not here, eh?" His eyes travelled slowly from the grimy feet to the abashed face, Bodie having become aware that he was a long way from home.

"Come on," added Doyle, "don't want you giving any old dear a cheap thrill." Slipping out of his jacket, he realised it was inadequate to cover the extent of the problem. "Look nonchalant," he advised, his smile one of affection rather than the amusement Bodie had been expecting. "But I'm warning you now," said Doyle, in a more familiar, reassuringly acidic tone, "If we meet anyone on the way up, you'll explain it to Cowley."

"Not by myself," said Bodie with confidence, having noticed Doyle's misbuttoned shirt by this time. He gave it a gentle tweak.

Doyle looked downwards and grimaced. "Probably not," he agreed. He patted Bodie's cold rump. "Now will you get a move on, I'll be right behind you."

Acutely conscious of Doyle's eyes on him as he mounted the steps, Bodie was looking decidedly self-conscious by the time they reached his flat, having encountered no one on the way.

"You're blushing," noted Doyle.

"So would you be if - You are staying?"

A new gentleness on his face, Doyle smiled. "You would have followed me down onto the street like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," said Bodie, in no doubt on that score but thankful it hadn't been necessary. "And what's so bloody funny?" he demanded as Doyle's mouth curved upwards.

"Nothing," Doyle promised him, nudging a bestubbled chin with a gentle fist. "Nothing at all. You're sure you want me to stay?"

"Well I'm not planning to do this a second time," snapped Bodie. "Course I do. You start breakfast, I'll have another shower. 'M bloody freezing."

"Okay."

Bodie stared after him. "That's not the way to the kitchen."

"True. Why should you have all the fun? I'm coming in the shower with you."

Following the line of discarded clothes, and making a mental note to have a word with Doyle about their care and maintenance, Bodie realised his choice of words had been quite deliberate. He didn't even notice the scarlet briefs as they sailed past him.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written August 1985


End file.
